


The Sweet Science

by coolbyrne



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane tries to find the beauty in the violence. Slight Protective!Jane. Rating for moments of controlled violence and language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweet Science

TITLE: The Sweet Science  
AUTHOR: coolbyrne  
RATING: M for language and some violence.  
SUMMARY: Jane tries to find the beauty in violence.  
A/N: Another short one; alas, no smut. But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. Thanks as always to Roman_Machine (happycamper5) for not letting me settle. You're right- I would know.

.....

The sweet science.

  
She had always been drawn to boxing, at least from the age of 10 when she got tired of being called Roly Poly Rizzoli. The day her dad came home and saw his little girl punching the tree in the back yard , knuckles bloodied and bruised, tears streaking down her cheeks was the first day of a lifelong love of the sport. He had put up a heavy bag in the corner of the garage, and it became her best friend; it listened to failures without judgment, and it celebrated her successes without embarrassing fanfare.

  
New thoughts of her dad and that bag crept into her mind, upsetting her rhythm ever so slightly. Both were gone now, casualties of a divorce she wasn't sure she accepted. It was one reason she was in the stifling gym of the BPD; there was no garage to go to except in her memory.

  
Jab, jab, hook. Jab, jab, hook.

  
She made sure to work her right hand as much as her left, because she hated the idea of having a weakness. Not Jane Fucking Rizzoli. Tap, tap, thud. Tap, tap, thud. Despite knowing she'd have to filter out the bullshit of the guys around her, she never wore headphones. She loved the sounds of the sport too much- the _taptap_ of the jab with the heavy thud of the hook, the drum line staccato of the speed bag, the rhythmic whip of the skipping rope. These things were their own music to Jane, enough to drown out the noises from both without and within. She didn't have to be the detective or the protector or the daughter or the sister. Here, on this sweat-soaked square mat, the duct-taped heavy bag let her simply be Jane. For her, that was the sweetness of the science.

  
She stopped so abruptly that the bag swung towards her and knocked her off balance. Holding the bag still, she narrowed her eyes. _I can't even say 'science' without thinking about Maura_. Truth be told, Maura was the reason she was here in the first place. An exchange in the morgue yesterday had driven her down to the gym today; an exchange that left Maura crying. Jane rested her head against the bag and tried to ignore the smell, a literal combination of decades of blood, sweat and tears.

  
She had made Maura cry. Not the angry tears she'd seen after shooting Paddy Doyle, or the tears of pain when she performed emergency surgery on Maura's leg. Tears of loss. She had only ever seen those from Maura once before- when she ran towards Jane, in that red and white dress, after she had shot herself to stop a hostage situation. Is that what Maura thought of this maybe-engagement to Casey? What did it mean that she just called it a 'maybe-engagement'? Shouldn't she know the answer when the love of her life proposes to her? That was a proposal, wasn't it? She was wearing the ring, wasn't she? She looked down at her wrapped hands. Okay, she wasn't wearing it now, but there was a reason for that, and she'd put it back on when she was finished. She thought of how Maura would fidget with the ring on her right hand, as though it gave her solace. She wondered if she would ever find that kind of comfort with Casey's ring. Did she really think a ring would replace the biggest comfort in her life?

  
_Maura. I've fucked this one up, haven't I?_

  
"Hey, Rizzoli, I didn't realize you had tits under those suits!" A voice called down from the boxing ring.

  
She didn't bother acknowledging the insult. The braying voice unmistakably belonged to Jerry Kijek, 20-year vet of the DCU. Rookie initiation involved pairing her up with 'Jer' until her first bust. Considering he took credit for the first five, she was stuck with him for 8 months. Him, that voice, and a pair of wandering hands.

  
When she ignored him, he called out again, "Maybe it's all that dick I hear you're finally getting that's tired ya out!"

  
Slowly turning, she smirked, "Doesn't 'Kijek' mean 'little dick' in Polish?" Her face was an open expression of mock-innocence, as if she didn't know the joke that had followed him since he joined the force.

  
"Little stick!" he corrected. "And it's big enough for you, Rizzoli."

  
"Not big enough for your wife though, huh?" She didn't feel bad about voicing the rumour everyone knew: Kijek's wife had left him 6 months ago.

  
He leaned over and gestured into the ring, his face a mask of fury. "Get in here and say that to me, you fucking dyke wop!"

  
She closed her eyes. There it was. So fucking original. Dyke. Like she hadn't heard that from the day she entered the Academy. Youngest graduate? Dyke. Youngest promotion? Dyke. Youngest detective? Dyke. Had she failed, it would have been a different label- stupid woman. There was just no winning, so she stopped trying.  
"I think you hit every square on your misogynistic bingo card there, Jer," she nodded her approval. With a tilt of her head, she wondered, "Or is it 'bigot'?"

  
He took the opening. "Maybe you should ask your girlfriend. I hear she's a cunning linguist." He turned and laughed with two other guys from his unit.

  
She rolled her eyes. "Do you even know what that means, you fucking moron? Or did you hear that in a movie when you were in high school and have been saving it ever since?"

  
A group of guys from the Gang Unit laughed from the free weights. "She fucking owns you, Kij!"

  
"Fuck you, assholes," he threw back. Casually propping a foot on the bottom rope and his taped hands over the top, he jerked his chin in her direction. "You're right, Rizzoli, my wife left me. So how about you and me, for old time's sake." He grabbed at his crotch. "I can't promise you a promotion, though."

  
"Hey, Jerry! Knock it off!" one of the Gang Unit guys shouted. "Jesus Christ."

  
Jane used the admonishment as a cover to let her anger subside before raising a wrapped hand. "It's okay, Gibbs. Appreciated, but not necessary." She looked at Kijek. "You wanna go? Let's go."

  
"Jane, c'mon, let it go," Gibbs said. "He ain't worth it."

  
Kijek flipped him the bird. "Fuck you."

  
He held open the ropes for Jane to step through, but she waved him away. "This'll be the only exercise I'll get in here," she told him, and swung her body between the top and second rope.

  
"Someone get her some gloves and head gear," he yelled at no one in particular.

  
"Screw the gear," she said. "Unless you're scared of eating my fists."

  
"Only scared of wrecking that pretty little mouth of yours," he sneered.

  
She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. "The only member of your family that has a chance of getting close to this mouth is your hot wife." While everyone knew Kijek's wife walked out, few had the balls to voice the rumour that she had left him for a woman.

  
The taunt hit him as intended and he swung wildly at her. She deftly stepped to the side and drew her hands up. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she slowly tuned out the extraneous noise and let the rhythm seep in; the shuffle of her footwork, the measured sound of her breathing. It was the exact opposite of what people assumed of Jane Rizzoli, the hot-headed cop who was a picture of calm in the ring. She could never explain it, why boxing soothed her when little else did. She knew people expected her to lose her shit in the face of a physical challenge, because she usually did, outside of the ring. But her father taught her not to hit the bag in anger; that was how you got hurt. _Channel it, Janie_ , he'd tell her. _Find the beauty in the violence_.

  
"I'm gonna fucking enjoy this," Kijek growled as he swung again.

  
"Gonna enjoy making an ass out of yourself?" Jane countered, connecting with a jab that snapped his head back, her feet bouncing.

  
As he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, she saw the red smear against the white tape. "Fucking bitch," he cursed.

  
The two cops circled each other, one more warily than the other. "You know who has a pretty mouth, little dick?" Jane asked as she avoided a right hook. "Your wife."

  
He lunged forward and found himself propelled against the ropes, as Jane dodged the move and caught him with a right hook of her own. No weaknesses. She was a counter-puncher, and despite spotting Kijek a good 100 lbs, his weight was soft and his moves were predictable. Other cops who had been scattered about the gym in small groups, came together around the ring. Jane had no doubt money would change hands at the end of it all.

  
He was already breathing hard, but what he lacked in stamina, he had in churlishness. "Maybe I should look at some other fish in the sea. I bet the Queen of the Dead is a fucking hot bitch in bed."

  
There was a slight hitch in her footwork. From behind her clenched fists, she remarked, "Such a charmer, can't imagine why your wife left you."

  
"I bet Dr. Isles' pretty mouth would feel so good around my cock." She tried not to flinch at the vulgarity, but it was too late. He saw the crack in her armour and made her pay with a straight right hand. Jane staggered back in shock. His smile showed a crooked row of yellowing teeth. "How tight do you think she is, Rizzoli?"

  
 _Contain, contain, contain_ , she told herself, feeling the veil of control slip away. Of course he would go there, would try to use that to push her over the edge when nothing else would. It was so predictable. She tried to use this knowledge as a way to reign in her anger, but images of Maura seeped through the cracks. Clenching her fists, she knew her father was right; experience had taught her that boxing in anger only got you hurt. She knew she'd learn that lesson again today. Fuck it. Feinting a jab to her right, she landed a left cross with so much force, she felt the pain vibrate up her arm. He wasn't smiling anymore and the row of teeth was missing one.

  
His eyes widened in shock and his tongue felt the missing spot. "You fucking bitch!"

  
She weaved under a wild hook. "You're going to apologize, you fucking piece of shit." A straight right hand connected to the bloody mouth that was now a bold red target.

  
He stumbled back, but jutted his chin in defiance. "I'd bend her over that slab and fuck her 'til she cried for more."

  
A left hook to the body sent Kijek reeling into the ropes. With a hard jaw, she inhaled and exhaled sharply through her nose and pursued with singular intent. She had faced this kind of misogyny her whole life. The little digs, the outright mockery. For every Frost or Korsak or Gibbs, there were 10 Kijeks, ogling her tits and making remarks, all in the name of 'a little fun'. She learned to deal with it, but she'd be damned if she was going to let Maura be dragged into it. And if part of her rage was directed at herself every time her mind pulled up the image of Maura crying, so be it. She had an outlet now and she was going to use it. Her lip split from his punch, she licked the trickle of blood and smiled.

  
"I'm gonna fucking enjoy this," she promised, repeating his earlier refrain.

  
His arms came out and clinched her against him. He smelled of cigarettes and sweat and she tried to push away in disgust, but he not only held on, but lifted her off the mat and dropped her with a thud. _Stupid_. Why she thought he might actually box fair, she didn't know. Flat on her back, she felt his knees straddle her waist and he leered at her. Shouts came from around the ring; some voicing their displeasure at his tactics, others egging him on.

  
"How you like having a man on top, Rizzoli?" He punched down and though she tried to dodge it, he was able to clip her ear.

  
She winced at the sharp pain. Between gritted teeth she said, "I'll let you know when that happens."

  
When he went for the same move, she was ready for it. She knew it would be his right hand again, because it was all he had. This time, instead of turning her head to the right, she shifted her shoulders to the left and jerked up her hips, startling him. That opening was all she needed. Raising quickly on her knee, she swung her leg around his back and nestled it between his head and shoulder. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and fell back to the mat, pulling him and his arm with her. A perfectly executed arm bar. Sweat plastered stray tendrils of hair to her face and she smiled through the strain.

  
"Fuck yeah, Rizzoli!" Gibbs shouted from outside the ring.

  
"Break his fucking arm!" another voice yelled.

  
"How do you like finally having your hand between my legs, Kijek?" she taunted.

  
"Fuck... fuck you, Rizzoli," he gasped.

  
"You wish," she sneered. "Say it." When she heard nothing but his grunting, she repeated it louder. "Say it. Fucking apologize." She emphasized her command by driving her hips forward and arching her back, hyper-extending his elbow.

  
"Ah! Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

  
She considered pulling the tendon back just a bit more, but she figured she was already in a pile of shit with the brass, based on the shape of Kijek's face. So with little fanfare, she threw his arm down, and stood up, ignoring the accolades and stares. She jumped down from the ring and went straight to the change room. The door closed quietly behind her and she slumped onto a bench. A shaking hand came up to wipe at her mouth and it was as if she saw the blood for the first time.

  
"Shit." What was she going to tell her mother? She closed her eyes and rested back against the wall. What was she going to tell Maura? Word would travel faster than she'd be able to contain. She'd be lucky if Maura didn't know by the time she left the gym. "Shit. Shit. Shit!" She curled up on the bench, the enormity of the situation hitting her in a way Kijek never could.

  
"Jane."

  
She jerked her head up and regretted the movement. Her neck howled at the pain. How long had she been out on this godforsaken bench?

  
"How did you know I was here, Maura?" she called out.

  
"Detective Gibbs gave me some money." There was a pause, as the answer explained everything. She must have realized it wasn't adequate enough because she clarified, "He told me he owed you some money. I have it. I suppose he didn't want to venture into the women's change room."

  
Gingerly pulling herself into a sitting position, she figured she might as well face the music. "Maura, it's a women's change room. You can come it without asking."

  
The door cracked open and a familiar face peeked around the corner. The smile dropped from the blonde's face. "Oh my God, Jane!"

  
She tried to intercept the attention by waving her away, but she knew it was a lost cause. Sure enough, Maura was immediately at her side. Jane almost laughed when she saw her look around for a towel before kneeling between her legs. Slowly, Maura tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes.

  
"Follow my finger," she said.

  
Jane dutifully watched as the manicured index finger first went far to the left, then far to the right. She patiently waited while the doctor inspected her split lip. The longer Maura went about her business, the more time Jane had to think, and a thinking Jane was often an unsettled one, particularly when it came to Maura Isles. Of course, had she done more thinking earlier instead of reacting, she might not be in this situation at all. And Maura wouldn't be here either, in this filthy place that didn't deserve to be graced with her presence. She'd tried to protect Maura from the disgusting stench of Jerry Kijek, only to invite her here anyway, tending to the consequences. She started to pull her hands back from Maura's grip, but the blonde was having none of it.

  
"Stop," Maura commanded. Tenderly, she brushed her fingertips across Jane's bruised knuckles. "I don't know why you persist in this... sport," she remarked as she found the edge of the tape and slowly began to unravel it.

  
"It's the sweet science, Maura."

  
She shook her head but said nothing until she had carefully unwrapped both hands. Hazel eyes flicked up to Jane. "It's a science I don't understand."

  
"I know."

  
Maura's attention returned to Jane's knuckles. "I don't understand," she whispered.

  
They stayed like this for a long time, with Maura kneeling at Jane's feet, both silent in their thoughts. Jane was the one who finally spoke.

  
"I won't be wearing the ring."

  
Maura's head snapped up. "What?"

  
She looked at Maura, wishing her monkey brain could put together all the words she wanted to say. Pretty words, words that were fit for someone like Maura. Instead, she held up her swollen hands. "I don't think it's going to fit me." It wasn't what she wanted to say, but when she caught something in Maura's gaze, she wondered if maybe words weren't necessary.

.....


End file.
